


You Look After You

by fiadhfajita



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sickfic, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiadhfajita/pseuds/fiadhfajita
Summary: After all this time, Demelza still has no concept of when to stop and rest.
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	You Look After You

**Author's Note:**

> Reuploaded from my old account ghostlywhitedirewolf After I accidentally deleted everything.
> 
> A few things:  
> Darkie is Ross’ horse in the books. I have tried to go along with the ‘old’ language, but it’s not totally consistent due to my own lack of knowledge (and also my lack of research time) so at times, rather than it being typical of Cornwall, it slips into my own accent.  
> I know that Prudie and Jud wouldn’t go away to visit family, but it fit my purpose. Don’t kill me :)  
> If at any point I’ve written ‘Impala’ instead of ‘Nampara’, sorry, I was watching SPN at my friend’s house whilst writing this.

-[o](http://www.apple.com)-

“Demelza!”

Demelza jumped on hearing her name, pushing one of the stray curls out of her face and groaning as she smeared suds across her face.

“Yes sir?” She called back, hesitating in her scrubbing and praying that he wasn’t about to add another item onto her ever growing list.

“Where are you?”

“I’m out by the pump, sir.”

She returned to her work as he strode out of the house, frowning as he took in her red eyes, despite the paleness of her skin.

“Demelza are you unwell?” He moved forward, placing his hands onto her wrists gently, stilling them and forcing her to look at him.

Demelza ducked her head. “Tis just a cold, sir, be right as rain in a day or so.”

“Where is your cloak? I require your assistance at the market today. Didn’t Prudie tell you of my request after supper last night?” Ross asked, narrowing his eyebrows as she shook her head.

“Nay sir, I didn’t see her after supper, she was already asleep. I fear that if I come to market that the washing and the cooking will not be finished today. Prudie and Jud are visiting relatives and will not be back.” Demelza told him, straightening and tossing the shirt she had been washing into the basket with the rest of the clean clothes.

Her hands stung, having been rubbed raw from the wash board, the cold water making them chapped; she rubbed them against her dress in an attempt to dry them off, noticing the way that Ross’ eyes wandered over her body, coming to rest at her hands before he reached for them.

“Your hands, Demelza,” he exclaimed, “have you been doing all the washing?”

“Yes sir. I be doin’ the washing and the scrubbing of the floors and the cooking. I been doing the cows, the pigs and washing down Darkie too sir, so that her mud fever doesn’t bother her again.” Demelza replied, pulling her hands back self consciously.

The last thing she wanted was for Ross to think that she wasn’t capable of her work and to send her back to her father.

“And you’ve been helping with the workers of the mine and Jinny and running around in town for me too. Demelza no wonder you’re sick! Verity mentioned that you looked thinner when she came around last time and it is little wonder! Have you been remembering to eat?” Ross eyed her sternly.

“Somedays, sir. I forgets and then it’s too late and I don’t want to wake you with cooking,” she replied, shuffling under his gaze, trying and failing to stifle the cough that arose, the noise a harsh, barking sound which made her cringe as it scraped its way up her throat.

Ross sighed gently, placing his hands on her shoulders, covered in only a thin piece of fabric yet radiating heat under his fingers. “Come. I am sure we can pick up a pie in town for dinner tonight. If not, there is still broth from yesterday. Garrick might have to stick to the burnt ends for a night.”

Demelza nodded wearily, allowing him to turn her, push her back towards the house and pick up the washing baskets himself when she tried to twist herself around to reach for them.

“‘Appen I can manage, sir.”

“‘Appen you don’t have to.” He mimicked, winking at the outrage on her face. “No more scrubbing today. I need you to come into town and then you will rest. Go and fetch your cloak. I’ll saddle Darkie.”

Demelza nodded, heading into the warmth of the house, her feet feeling unsteady as she went, head pounding and eyelids heavy. She really didn’t want to go into town, her hair was a mess, her clothes dirty; and they were the least of her worries. She felt terrible; shivery but overly warm with a headache. A persistent cough had ailed her for over a week now, gradually becoming worse.

Prudie had commented only yesterday that it sounded like an infection of her lungs, but Demelza had merely shook her head and told her not to be ridiculous. She was just a little under the weather.

Up until then, she had been successful in hiding it from Ross, avoiding him when at all possible and praying that she wouldn’t start coughing and give herself away when she was unable to avoid his presence. Now she knew that she had nowhere to hide; she couldn’t stifle her coughing all day and carrying the frozen buckets of fish all day was draining when she was in full health. Demelza felt the familiar itch in her throat as she bent, allowing herself the luxury of a bout of uninhibited coughing before she donned her coat and headed back out to the yard, where Ross stood waiting for her, Darkie at his side.

“Up you go,” he said, lifting her into the saddle before swinging himself up behind her and squeezing his legs around Darkie’s sides, the dark bay horse moving off smoothly as Ross’ arms encompassing Demelza’s waist to hold the reins.

Demelza allowed herself to lean backwards into him; his larger frame supporting her small one as she tried to relax. Her breathing soon became laboured as they rode, her body already weary from the chores and she found herself clutching at Ross’ arm to remain balanced as her coughing took hold of her.

Ross slowed Darkie’s pace to a walk and peered down at her. “Demelza? Are you well enough to continue?”

Her head swam as she fought to draw in a deep breath without coughing but she nodded regardless. “Yessir, jus’ a cough. M’fine.”

He narrowed his eyebrows as though he didn’t quite believe her, but didn’t turn the horse around.

Demelza made sure to stifle her coughs as much as possible for the remainder of their journey into town, but she felt Ross’ arms tighten around her whenever her chest convulsed anyway.

-o-

Once in town, they split up as they always did, him heading to a gathering of the investors and she heading to the fishmongers. With Jud and Prudie away, she had expected to be buying less fish, but Ross had asked her for a larger order, reminding her of Verity and Blamey’s visits.

Of late, another man had been around Nampara, but Demelza was hard pushed to call him a gentleman. George Warleggan was arrogant and obnoxious.

“A weasel if e’er I sees one.” Prudie had told her, brandishing a wooden spoon angrily after one particular run in where Warleggan had admonished Ross for allowing Garrick into the kitchen and then proceeded to kick at the scraggy dog.

Demelza herself had jumped to the dog’s defence, trying to explain to him that the dog didn’t have any crawlers, but that had only earned her the threat of a thrashing from Ross that had been rightly deserved, if not unusual for him. She knew that she had spoken out of place, but his words still stung.

George Warleggan made him uneasy she knew; he hated the man with a vengeance and the buying of shares in Wheal Leisure without Ross’ knowledge had done little to appease these feelings.

She pulled the cloak further around herself and slowly made her way down the steps towards the stalls of fish. Her head swam and her fingers shook despite the slight sheen of sweat that beaded on her forehead.

Demelza tried to shake off the feeling of dizziness as she headed over to her chosen fisherman. He was one of the few men who no longer bartered with her for too long. He had never tried to con her too badly and knew her well enough to come to an agreement sooner rather than later. She knew that he would recognise that she were sick and hoped that he wouldn’t try to take advantage of it, she didn’t have the energy for it.

Mick frowned when he saw her.

“She don’t look so good today,” he said, nodding in her direction as she approached him, “she be lookin’ awful flushed and bothered.”

“She be need’n more fish’n usual,” she replied leaning against the stall slightly and telling him how much she needed. “I won’t go more than a fourpence.”

“No chance, six!”

“Mick, not today, fourpence and I’ll be off.” Demelza thought her voice a little abrupt, but she just wanted to get back to Ross and back to Nampara where she could sleep once her chores were complete.

Mick grimaced and scrunched his nose, but eventually nodded and set about arranging the fish into the pails that Demelza handed to him. “She a robber, but a sick robber, so we’ll let ‘er off.”

“Don’t be sayin’ that, I not so sick I need he’s sympathy!”

“She looks fit to fall! I’m not sure she should be out of the ‘ouse, let alone walking around ‘ere with only a cloak on. ‘e won’t get any better. I can see you’re shivering from here but with fever! Ye’ best hope I don’t catch it or ye’ll be buying fish from old Charlie over there and ‘e won’t be as nice to you as I be.” Mick gave the pails back to her, smiling as she rolled her eyes at him.

“Goodbye,” she said turning away from him with a painfully dry sounding cough that made her head spin at the movement.

Her progress back towards the main street was slow, her pace a trudge rather than her usual enthusiasm. Demelza was relieved to see Darkie tethered outside the pub, Ross standing next to her talking to two other gentlemen, his back to her as he spoke.

Completely focused on getting back to him, she didn’t notice the hand until is snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

“Hey!” She gasped, trying to break free form the hold without spilling the fish everywhere.

Demelza smelt the alcohol before she saw the face and coughed. “Hey mister, lemme go!”

“Demelza.”

The way George Warleggan said her name made her flinch; the saccharine tenor of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

“Sir. Please let me go. Cap’n Poldark will be angry, I must get back.” Demelza banked on using Ross as her excuse, but the other man held onto her wrist, eyes raking over her like a predator and she his prey.

Panic bubbled up inside her as his face came towards hers, his nose pressing into her hair. She looked around, was no one going to help her? Demelza knew that they would have noticed; a man of Warleggan’s status with a serving wench. Or, with her red cloak, did they think her his mistress?

Turn around Ross, she begged silently as she pulled back.

“Maybe I’ll have a little taste, see if the rumours are true, that way maybe I could understand his obsession with you.” George breathed, ignoring Demelza’s sharp intake of breath and her squirming as she tried to free herself from his hold.

“I don’t rightly know what false rumours you been hearing sir, but please let go of me.” She pulled back, head spinning as she heard someone shout her name.

Ross, she thought, dizzy with relief as George released her once he saw the dark haired man approaching them. Her breathing was heavy and panicked, more unsure of herself than she had ever felt before. Demelza wanted to turn and beg Ross to take her home, anything to not be near the vile George Warleggan.

“Is there an issue here?” Ross asked the other man, placing his body between Demelza and George, voice dripping with acidity and face stony; Demelza didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so threatening as in that moment.

“Not a thing Captain Poldark, Demelza and I were just catching up. I’ll be off now, see you both around.” George backed down, sensing a fight he couldn’t win, especially in his inebriated state.

Ross stood for a moment, watching him go before turning to Demelza, who was trying to control the shaking of her hands as well as the impending fuzziness that danced around her brain and in front of her eyes.

The pails of fish clunked to the floor, both landing solidly, nothing falling out of the buckets as Demelza tilted her head to gaze up at Ross, wondering why the world was blurring around the edges.

Ross moved forward quickly a question on his lips.

“Are you–” but the question remained unfinished as Demelza’s exhausted body , through stress, finally succumbed to the fatigue and sickness that she had tried so hard to fight, the world tilting at an odd angle.

The last thing Demelza was aware of was strong arms wrapping around her, stopping her from hitting the floor.

-o-

The first thing Demelza was aware of when she began to stir was the heat. She was so warm, yet the tremors still wracked her body mercilessly.

Fever.

She was held tightly against something hard, another body she thought.

Ross, Demelza realised as she felt the familiar rocking of Darkie’s steady gait beneath her.

Her eyelids flickered open slowly, taking in the sight of Ross’ grey shirt, her cheek having been pressed against his chest. She was astride the horse, but facing the wrong way, her knees rubbing against Ross’ and her chest resting against his.

Groaning lowly, Demelza began to raise her head, flinching at the pain in her head before burying her face back into Ross’ shirt to stem the dizziness she suddenly felt.

“Demelza?” She felt more than heard Ross’ words through the vibrations in his chest, the hand that wasn’t holding Darkie’s reins rubbing circles into her back soothingly. “We’re almost back to Nampara. How do you feel?”

“Dizzy, thirsty.” Demelza said, hating the croakiness of her voice.

She was not this weak person, she had refused to be throughout her time at Nampara, had worked through sickness before, had kept up with Jud and Jim; now she had been floored by a cough.

Demelza sighed, the noise hidden by the coughing that occurred almost immediately afterwards, hands clutching Ross’ jacket gently to try and stop them from shaking. She could feel the wind around them, telling her that Ross was right, they were close to home. The smell of the sea was stronger across the barley fields than in the town and the air was colder.

She wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. Anything to dim the aching in her chest and head. Her limbs felt heavy and stiff and she wondered how long she’d been out for, but she couldn’t find the voice to ask him. Instead, she attempted to mould herself into his body until they finally arrived home.

-o-

“Ross, I can walk,” Demelza grumbled as she found herself being carried into the house.

Ross merely smiled, hearing the weariness behind the words and taking the lack of a struggle for what it was. Demelza was completely exhausted, her hair stuck to her forehead from the fever that he knew he would have to be wary of. It wasn’t quite high enough to cause her any harm, but nevertheless it needed to be monitored.

He had considered calling Dr Choake, but the doctor would only grumble about treating her. Considering his station, Choake preferred to treat the upper classes almost exclusively. It angered Ross, the way that his class and even the higher classes thought of the workers, as something to be tossed aside once they were of no use to them any longer.

Gently, he laid Demelza down in his bed, shooing a hovering Garrick away, the dog having followed them into the house when he thought that Ross wasn’t looking. Slowly he tugged at the ties on Demelza’s cloak, undoing them and ridding her of it. The dress would be more difficult, but Ross hadn’t anticipated the fully bodily flinch and the noise of distress as he touched the inside of her wrist to undo the button there.

“No, let go.” Demelza’s voice was almost a whimper as she tugged weakly, pulling her forearm into her chest as soon as he released her.

“Hey, hey it’s just me. It’s just Ross,” he soothed, “your dress is wet and dirty, we need to get it off you or you’ll get sicker. You’re fine. It’s just me.”

“Ross?” Demelza blinked up at him blearily.

“It’s me,” he replied, unusually patient as she uncurled her body and allowed him to undress her.

What had blasted Warleggan said to her earlier? Ross wondered.

He knew that she had looked afraid, an uncommon occurrence for the wild natured Demelza and George had been so close to her. Close enough that Ross had been surprised at the anger it sparked within him at the sight of them.

Demelza was not a toy and she certainly wasn’t a pawn in their games.

Ross slipped out of the room once she was settled under the blankets, returning with a cup of water and a promise to be right back once he had dealt with Darkie.

He untacked the horse quickly, ensuring that she had fresh hay and water before heading back inside to check on Demelza. Her temperature hadn’t risen any more, despite the red flush of her cheeks but her cough worried him.

Bronchitis. Many a time they had seen it take ahold of the soldiers. She would recover, but it would take a few days if she were to not make herself ill again by resuming her work before her body was ready.

Listening to her cough made his own lungs hurt, it was a dry, painful noise that made her already red face darken alarmingly. Ross quickly boiled a pan of water, tipping it into a bowl and walking back into the bedroom. Demelza was unwilling to sit up, wanting to be left alone to sleep, but Ross was relentless, kicking off his boots and sliding into bed with her, pulling her up to lean back against his chest as he held the bowl under her nose, forcing her to inhale the steam.

At first she coughed, turning away from the bowl.

“Come on, it will ease your lungs,” Ross murmured into her hair, the hand holding her to him stroking circles into her stomach as she obeyed.

Two bowls of steam later, her breathing slowly became less laboured, her coughingwet rather than hacking.

“A little better?” Ross asked.

Demelza nodded, “thank you sir.”

“You should have told me earlier that you didn’t feel well. I would have gone alone.” Ross admonished gently.

“I didn’t want you to think me weak.”

Ross closed his eyes, sighing as he rested his chin on the top of her forehead. “Demelza, weak is something you are not. No one could ever describe you as weak and I won’t ever judge you harshly for being ill. Next time you must tell me.”

“I will sir,” she said, growing quiet for a while.

“What happened with George Warleggan earlier, Demelza?” Ross questioned, placing the bowl of water on the bedside table and sliding them both down the bed.

He knew that the position they were in was inappropriate, her his servant and he her master, but there was no one around to judge them and Demelza didn’t seem to mind, her small body turning to tuck herself into his side.

“I don’t be likin’ him, Ross, I mean sir.” Demelza started, quickly correcting her blunder before continuing. “He said about the rumours. What be people sayin’ about me and you? He said that if he could have a taste then maybe he’d understand your obsession wi’ me. Sir, you don’t have no obsession with me. We don’t do anything wrong.”

Ross drew breath, angry and cursing George. How dare he?

“I don’t much like him either. Demelza if he ever says anything or tries anything like that again, I want to you tell me right away. I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t come around here any more and I’ll certainly make sure he doesn’t bother you any longer,” Ross promised, meeting Demelza’s eyes for a second before running a hand through her hair gently, mouth quirking at the sigh of relief that the gesture emitted.

“Thank you sir,” she breathed, eyes closing and the tension draining from her body at his ministrations.

He watched as she fell asleep in his arms, eyelids flickering subconsciously. Once she was asleep, Ross allowed himself the luxury of really looking at her, at the young woman she had become without him truly realising.

The childish roundness of her face had sharpened out, revealing high cheekbones and a fragile beauty that was so different to the girls he had admired in the past. Her wild, seemingly untameable hair was often held back by a piece of cloth, stray curls escaping despite her best efforts and he had seen her many a time push them back behind her ears, smudging flour across her face.

How was it that she had changed so drastically in front of his eyes yet he had not fully noticed he wondered.

She wasn’t as skeletal as she had been when she first arrived, yet she lacked the curves that were considered feminine. Instead, she was tall and gaunt, a result of her work and her lack of care for herself, something that Ross was determined to change.

Her obsession with ensuring his health had led to Demelza neglecting her own and he knew he would endeavour to ensure that it didn’t happen again, she was too precious to him, to Nampara.

Smiling gently as she pushed her nose into his side, he leaned down and pressed his lips into her forehead.

“Sleep and feel better, Demelza,” he whispered softly, knowing that she wouldn’t hear him but not caring.

Tomorrow was a new day and Ross hoped that it would bring with it some slight relief for Demelza. Pulling her more tightly into his arms, he settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes, allowing himself the indulgence of rest that he too so desperately needed.

-o-

El fin.

-o-

I hope you enjoyed!

Leave me a comment and let me know what you thought?


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